Petunia, the Petulant
by QuidditchQuitter
Summary: Petunia Dursley, closing one chapter of her life, decides to seek closure to another, older one. But to do so, she must face haunting childhood memories of her sister, Lily, and the dark, shrewd boy who stole her away...
1. A Silly Woman

**Story Title: Petunia the Petulant**

**Chapter Title: A Silly Woman**

**Author's Note: **I am thoroughly enjoying telling the story of just two of the characters who are, in my opinion, rather unfairly treated in the _Harry Potter_ saga. I solemnly swear to do my best to update once a week, and no worse than once a month, until it is completed. If you're following, please let me know by reviewing, and thanks! Hope you enjoy the adventures of Petunia Dursley!

**Summary: **Vernon is dead, and Dudley and Harry are gone. There is nothing left of her shattered existence but a previous chapter, long ago, the ending of which never satisfied her. Petunia Dursley, deciding for once to stand up to her stars, sets out to seek closure to the haunting loss of her much-beloved sister, Lily, and bring to account the wizarding world that tore them apart-a world whose current ambassador is Severus Snape. Meanwhile Severus, who has spent his life pining for Lily, now finds himself with yet another irritating member of Potter's family on his hands...

**Disclaimer: **I'm not J.K. Rowling, nor am I on her payroll.

**Pairings:** PD/SS, and others I haven't decided yet.

**Warnings: ** NOT slash! Gasp! Plotline not entirely dependent on erotica. Gasp! This story follows the _Deathly Hallows_, but without the deaths of most of the characters we like. I don't know of any others yet, but will update if I think of any.

**Petunia, the Petulant**

**_petulant _**

_1599, "immodest, wanton, saucy," from . petulant (1350), from L. petulantem (nom. petulans) "wanton, forward, insolent," from the root of petere "rush at, seek" (see petition). Meaning "peevish, irritable" first recorded 1775, probably by influence of pet (2). _

**A Silly Woman**

_"And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not"_

_ -William Shakespeare_

A lone, black carriage from a nightmare realm clop-clop-clopped away down the darkening path, led by invisible forces that were probably too terrible to look upon without turning one to madness. A mercy that they could not be seen. The journey had been hard. The landscape had mirrored very well the perpetual grief that was the woman's constant state of mind. It was not all for her husband, although much had been for him, to be sure.

She stood just within the gates of the strange grounds, the mansion-of-madness rising before her with bright lights glowing from its windows, quite inappropriately, she thought without emotion. She knew it was filled with children, but she did not think of them now. Instead she clutched the card, still in its cinnamony envelope, as it to reassure herself that it, at least, was real.

_Dear Aunt Petunia,_ the note read…though she could never remember her nephew actually referring to her this way, now that she tried…_I am so sorry to hear the news about Uncle Vernon. I would have come immediately; please forgive me, as my recent dangerous work prevented me, and by the time I tried to make arrangements, I found the funeral had passed. I am sorry for you and Dudley especially. I want you to know the news causes me a heavy heart. I am glad Dudley could visit when he did. I'm proud of his success. Aunt, forgive me if this seems a bit presumptuous, but you see he strongly urged me to let you know that I intend to help you with your request, much as it came at my surprise! It may take some time, but I am working at it. If you'll forgive me, I think it would be best if we act first, and ask permission later. I have made arrangements to put our plan in motion, if you should agree to them. Not to discourage you, but this is going to be a tough journey. I am here to help in any way I can, and with anything you may need. Please don't hesitate to ask, or let thoughts of the past prevent you. _

_I've sent instructions to him as to how to reach me, and I hope my gift of the pair of doves brings you some pleasure. Of course, I will not be offended if you prefer not to keep them, but I promise you that they can be very useful creatures. Besides, I figured they would be preferreable to an owl. I await your response to let me know if I have your permission to come and see you. Of course, if you wish to be alone in your grief, I understand as well. By the way, Draco Malfoy, my friend who visited that summer before I graduated, says hello, and sends his sympathies as well._

_ Please never doubt that I think of you fondly, and you remain in my thoughts at this difficult time._

_ Your nephew Harry_

Of course she had not responded at any length, other than a note of thanks when she could finally muster it, and it had taken all of her to do so. The nice thing about grief, though, was that it numbed you to all else. Almost.

But after the coffin had been lowered in the grave, the appropriate prayers and words said, and the brazenly bleached flowers tossed among the first dirt to hit the coffin with its _thud_ of finality, it had not been long. Not long at all. It had been there all along, she realized, this idea, budding in her, this resolve to find…closure.

And so she had written to her son, Dudley, asking him politely to get in touch with Harry and grant her very odd request, and the next thing she knew, a taxi had arrived to take her to a train at which her son stood, ready to greet her, with one of those people she had always hated standing next to him…a young man who at least had the decency not to wear a robe. He was otherwise neatly put together, and when he had been introduced by Dudley as "one of Harry's friend's kids," he was polite enough to put her mostly at ease as he escorted her onto the train into her very own private car, which, he explained, held no students in it, and which, he and Harry had hoped, would be comfortable for her.

She had closed her eyes to go through the wall to get to the train, but she knew he'd assisted her, probably having been warned by her nephew on how much running through a wall on a train platform in public would have traumatized her in her present state of mind. She wondered the whole ride, of course, if she could have done it after all. But that was a question perhaps never to be answered.

Petunia looked like a wilted, shriveled version of the flower for which she was named, at the moment. Clad in mourning black, she wore her hair pulled tightly back in the same old-fashioned style she'd worn for almost thirty years. Not a strand was out of place, but that came from years and years of practice, rather than extra care. Everything she did was automatic, everything practiced and mechanical. That's how it had always been. And now she had an empty house, with nothing but silence around her when she did not have the T.V. on playing in the background, which she had done in the beginning to perpetuate the illusion that Vernon was still there. The effect had been discomforting, after a while, though, and so she had the T.V. given away. Then there was nothing left but the sound of her washing the same dish over and over again, of the tea kettle brewing when she remembered to take tea while she stared out of the window into the tiny garden in her backyard.

The cooing of the doves that Harry had sent her.

It had been quite the appropriate gift, it turned out, for it introduced to her a new habit to add to her repertoire; she fed them and cleaned their cage entirely too often, she supposed, but it was comforting to have something new to take care of. Who'd have thought it?

Shriveled, yes, but not with age; rather, with bitterness. Bitterness in her belly that fed itself on misery again and again. Until now. Now, when she stood here, empty, staring at the mystical "School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" that had claimed her sister and shut its doors to her forever, then repeated the insult by claiming her nephew while he lived out his youth in her own home. Empty, except for one brand new thought that had taken hold. _A wand_. Nevermind that she was in her waning years, and that she was…what did they call it, that terrible name that was the sum of her whole existence? A _Muggle_. She was not her sister, no. But what did that matter, and why should she be?

Her sister was here, that was certain. She could feel her behind those walls. Lily had been to this school. And every year she'd spent here had been one in which her existence had denied Petunia's. Her sister was long dead, and so it was too late to show her how wrong she'd been. But in those walls was someone who had known her, someone who had valued her above Petunia, and who had made no effort to hide his contempt for Lily's mundane, uninteresting, _inferior_ sibling.

Her stomach twisted as she thought of the dark man with the greasy hair and the penetrating, spiteful eyes, the eyes that could make her feel so worthless, so far beneath him. She twisted her ankle in an absent-minded nervous habit she had recently picked up, and was mildly aware of the stiffness in her tight, dark high-heeled shoes. Hardly traveling attire. What was his name? Something crazy, like a snake…something…sever…Severus. Severus…Snape. That was it.

"Severus," she whispered, picturing him now, his withering glance blazing in her mind's eye. She lifted her short, stylish dark veil and set it upon the lip of her tiny hat as a youth in robes, uncertain-looking, approached her from the bottom of the stairs.

"Do you need something, ma'am? Are you looking for your child?"

"I'm here to see Severus Snape," she said flatly.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Lily's sister…another flower, if I remember correctly? Primrose, was it?" The man smiled acidly.

"Petunia. But you know my name."

"Ah, Petunia. Yes. And what brings the delicate flower to grace the halls of this, no doubt, unusual establishment? You'll have to forgive the mess…we've had a bit of construction going on, you see."

Severus made a production of stepping over a giant tumbled statue on which half of the face had been blown off. He stood looking at her curiously, a sallow man who seemed to tower above everything, although he was only at most a foot and a half taller than she. His black, billowing robes seemed to suit his solemnity, though they were oddly out of place with the youthful students teeming here and there, chattering with excitement, hardly noticing the two of them. He had aged, just like she, and she saw in him a dignity befitting something of a mad genius…a demeanor that must have taken many years of development to replace the lurking, uncertain insecurity he'd had as a teenager. He was terrifying, fascinating, and loathsome.

"Yes, I know about the war," Petunia answered, ignoring his attempt to patronize her. "As I heard it, the good side one. Didn't it?"

He smiled, and she could not tell if it was the smile of pleasure or the grin of a hungry predator.

"Yes, it did, at some great costs, but all things were righted, you might say. We're still in the clean-up process. But I was not aware you paid such close attention to the events of _our_ world, Mrs. Dursley."

"Well, with a nephew like Harry living with me, it was hard not to."

"Yes, I imagine so. And it's interesting that you use the phrase _living_ with you, as I thought I'd heard it might be strange to call it that, but then, one hears things all the time."

Petunia flushed in fury and shame, but said nothing to this, and merely waited, holding his gaze.

Let him size her up. Did he think she was afraid?

After a moment, he broke his stare and looked about, as if considering some other busy matter.

"Well, perhaps I can regale you with all the details at another time, although I have to warn you it may put one such as yourself to sleep. In the meantime, I would simply love to know what has brought you to these halls, especially so closely on the heels of your recent loss. My deepest condolences, by the way."

She nodded curtly.

"Please," he said, his voice oozing, step into my office. With one graceful gesture, the towering villain stepped aside, and she saw that he held a long, thin wand in his hand. She felt a rumbling under her feet, and just caught herself before she squealed. The statue had begun to right itself. When it stood completely upright, it then began to twirl about, and a hidden, winding staircase was revealed. She glanced back at Severus, remembering to close her gaping mouth, and he dropped into a mocking bow as he nodded toward the stairs.

"After you, madam."

She gulped, gathered herself, then lifted her head and stepped forward. Her heels wobbled, but she made it down the stairs without tumbling.

"I'll get right to the point," she said when she stood before the Headmaster's desk and the chamber had closed behind her. She tried desperately not to swallow her own voice.

"Please do."

Severus sat behind the desk that looked, along with the whole office, like the workplace of someone fictional from the worlds of Jules Verne or perhaps even the Arthurian legends. She resisted the urge to look around at everything. The most unsettling thing by far were the moving pictures behind the headmaster's chair; in fact, she was certain she recognized his predecessor, Albus Dumbledore, who had made several unpleasant visits to her home over the years when her nephew was with her.

She started to speak, then stopped. All that she had rehearsed seemed to fade away, and appeared so foolish now. She had meant to tell him of the wand, and the broken china, and-but it all seemed not to matter now. There would be no convincing him. Best to simply ease into it, feel him out and see which way the conversation would turn.

All she really had to make him understand was that she was not leaving.

Petunia, having made her decision, placed her tiny hands primly folded in front of her. As she stood before him, she wondered if he liked this, seeing her standing there like a student about to be reprimanded, knowing that he had not even offered her the courtesy of a chair. She cleared her throat softly.

"I wonder, Mr. Snape, how many like me you've had in this room."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning on one elbow. His mouth was covered by a restless hand, but she could have sworn he was amused.

"Muggles, you mean?"

"I object to that term, actually," she found herself saying, and she shifted her glance to his desk, on which there was a tiny globe. She gave it a spin before he took it away.

"I'm sorry. What would you prefer?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something a little more dignified. Perhaps 'unawakened.'"

"That is about as dignified as 'unevolved,' and hopelessly sentimental besides, but have it your way. No, I don't think we've had the pleasure of the 'unawakened' at Hogwarts in a couple hundred years, at least. When they were here, usually it was with the hopes of burning all of _us_-the _awakened_-to ash in the hopes that this would send us back to the devil where we belonged, so as you can imagine, we have taken extra care just _who_ we let into our walls since then, you see."

"Well, that was a long time ago, obviously," she snapped, struggling to maintain composure.

"It may have been a long time ago, madam, but it is nevertheless etched in our memories as if it were yesterday. Some of us to this day have not experienced the best treatment from Mug-er, the 'unawakened," and rather than persist in a life of agonizing estrangement from humanity, have found it better to form communities with our own _kind_," he said even more coldly, and Petunia felt her stomach jump to her throat. Now she felt threatened by that terrible speechlessness that always seemed to come to her when she was addressed by one of _these people_…but she must remember why she'd come!

"I have come to apply to the school, Mr. Headmaster," she blurted, and stood there daring him to laugh, or throw her out in a rage.

Now it was _his_ turn to be speechless.

It seemed that time froze for a moment. Then he seemed to regain himself by shuffling scrolls meaninglessly about his desk; she recognized the tactic as characteristic of every bureaucrat who ever stood between people and something they wanted.

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, Mrs. Dursley, I must confess I could not be more astounded than if you'd said you would like to be named the Minister of Magic herself. Did I hear you correctly," he tried, frowning with genuine confusion, "that you wish to become a _student_ at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? You, a full-grown woman, who is clearly past her prime, and has already finished, I daresay, a full secondary education many, _many_ years past?"

He could be as insulting as he liked. She was numb enough that she could take it. Instead, she would handle him the way she did every bureaucrat.

"It's the twenty-first century, Headmaster. It's never too late to better oneself, wouldn't you say?"

"It is for some."

"Only to those with a limited imagination."

"In my line of work, Mrs. Dursley, it is the _skill_ that is too limited, however fantastic the imagination might be. And-forgive me-did _you_ say 'imagination?'"

"You have not even asked me, Severus, if I have it."

"Of course you do not!" He raised his voice, dropping all pretense.

"I assure you, I do."

"If you did, you would have been here when your sister was!"

"I didn't know I had it then. Now I do."

"That is the silliest thing I've ever heard. What has happened that makes you think suddenly you have the right to call yourself a witch?"

Petunia wanted to answer him; she wanted to tell him about the wand and the china, the dreams and all she believed-but couldn't. How could anyone be so utterly prejudiced?

"Suppose I did tell you? Would it change anything?"

He laughed.

"You have nothing to tell, just as I thought. Go home, you silly woman, and grieve in your empty shell of a home like a good little housewife. Don't worry; the pain will pass soon enough, and then I'm sure you'll remember some neighbor you can torture. Go back to Privet Drive where you belong, and I promise you'll be _good_ as new."

"I can't. I can't go back….Too many memories, wasted time…"

"I fail to see how that is my problem. If you truly had any gifts at all, we would have detected them long ago. You see, _we_ are very _good_ at looking out for our _own_. Of course, in your defense, I have seen loss have some outrageous effects on people, especially very weak individuals who do not have the discipline or even the will to master themselves. But this fancy must end, Mrs. Dursley, for all our sakes. You don't belong here."

Petunia had let this barrage of dismissal wash over and engulf her, expecting to drown. But she found that something else was happening instead. As Snape talked, the grief, jealousy and fury she had felt for so long in her silent raging against the world throbbed, heating up like a coal fire in an underground furnace. The hot snake began to uncoil inside her. She could not breathe. She tugged at her tight collar, choking on her rage. But the snake had stretched itself out, taken over her body. It would not lie back down. Its heated metallic form now took control of her limbs. She leaned forward, placed her fingertips on Snape's desk, and looked him square in the eyes.

"And just who are you, Severus Snape, to decide who does and does not belong here? I would think such ultimate judgment could scarcely be left up to the whim of one _man_. Isn't there some body of superiors even you must report to?"

Snape did not blink and slowly rose, hatred and disgust pronouncing every wrinkle.

"If you were a person of any magical stature at all, Mrs. Dursley, you might be right. However, since you are nothing but a sorry little creature guided by the instincts of little more than a pampered dog, do not dare to think for a fraction of a second that there is a witch or wizard from whom you are owed any rights. There is nothing you have that can buy entrance into these sacred halls, in which you would not even have the metal to survive one night without charging headlong over a moving staircase or getting yourself blown up by a first year with a wand. And since that is the case, my delusional little pilgrim, better you understand sooner than later that _this_ decision rests with me, and to you, I am nothing less than your better."

"My _better_?" Petunia laughed, her lips shaking. "And you call _me_ delusional? You think just because you can wave a wand around and make things fly about, I should consider myself less than you?"

"I could end your miserable existence right now if I chose, so yes, I'd say that puts you a little lower on the chain of evolution. And I must say, this isn't the first time I've considered doing just that. In fact, I used to offer the option to Lily quite often. Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for her, judging by your treatment of her son, she actually _pitied_ you. I suppose I should have done her the favor long ago!" His words cut her so deeply, her rage flew from her lips, and she could not control it, even though she was afraid.

"Then why don't you do it now? What is stopping you, your holiness?!" she shrieked.

"I doubt anyone would even weep," he growled nastily, his hand moving slowly to his robes. But before he could pull out his own wand he was staring down one that she clasped clumsily in her two tiny trembling hands…a wand that looked vaguely familiar.

He stared for a full second at this act of audacity, his eyes wide, and then trumpeted a delighted laugh.

"Mrs. Dursley! You are full of surprises. But enough banter. Your game is much better. Shall we play?"

Petunia's teeth chattered, and she clutched her wand, but nothing came to her-she braced herself-

"Ready?"

_ He wouldn't!_

"Set?"

_ Would he?_

"_Reducto_!"

Petunia flinched and tried wildly to block his movement, wielding her wand like a weapon as she staggered back and shuddered to the sound of a crash behind her where Snape's spell had hit. She backed away and tried to summon _some_thing, pull _some_ intention from all the chaotic emotions that now raged freely through her body, but he was laughing, just laughing at her as he shot fiery magick this way and that, watching her dance about, and his laughter was deafening, deafening, deafening…the dark man came from behind his desk and began to walk toward her, and she was reminded of a moment buried in the recesses of her memory…

…She'd been on a playground, and a neighborhood girl with a troupe of friends behind her was hurling insults at her, laughing and laughing as little Petunia threatened to tell her parents, whom she knew would not understand if they even cared. She had cried and cried and cried that day, and when Lily, all smiles and kindness, had come home looking for her to see if she was okay, she had lashed out and screamed that she hated her…

Suddenly, Petunia had the distinct, horrifying feeling that he was _looking_ into her memory. She felt him feeding upon it, feeding on her own self-loathing. Worse, she could _feel_ him…and stinging more than his contempt for her, was his complete _devotion_ for Lily, even after all these years, and then his accusation as if _she _were to blame for being alive while Lily was dead! She was crumpling…there could be no winning against him. If only he would kill her where she stood.

_ He'll have to_, some unwavering part of her hissed, because _I am _not_ leaving_. That's right! She had come here to end it…

She suddenly halted her retreat, let her hand with the wand hang toward the floor, and held her ground. Let him read her mind, and let him read her resignation! _There's nothing more you can take from me, you dog_, she thought at him. And then another thought entered her mind: _At least I got to see Hogwarts. _And her head hurt.

Snape, smiling, flicked one or two more spells off to each side, and then lowered his wand as he approached. He had returned to his more businesslike self. He was about to say something, but stopped, for he saw something was happening to Petunia.

She was still shaking, but now from pain, and she could tell he understood this. In fact, Petunia's head was killing her; she was seeing spots before her eyes, and she had the strange feeling that some energy was leaving her from a very specific location in her body…she felt certain she was about to faint, but she did not want him to have the satisfaction…something blue and shining, like a glittering cloud of smoke, was rising now before her…she was falling…what was this thing? Hallucinating…

She felt herself caught on the way down and realized with some horror that Severus was holding her, now looking at her as if she were very far away under water…

"Mrs. Dursley…Mrs. Dursley…" he was saying over and over again. She tried to answer but could not. Her head hurt so horribly! She was raising her hand to it, and her hand felt heavy. She looked down at it and was surprised to find that the wand was still in it, and the smoke, she could have sworn, had been coming from it, but she could not see it now…it was fading…she must be coming to.

He tapped her lightly in the face a couple of times, and that brought her smartly to her senses. She raised her hand slowly, wishing to slap the living daylights out of him for daring to touch her, but her arm merely flopped onto her stomach.

"What…did you do to me…"

"You're weak, Petunia. You must sit a moment. Here." He was guiding her to his chair. How odd.

"You're the one who's weak! Attacking a poor little woman one _third_ your size…" she hoped he would feel the dig about his weight, although really he was quite slight for his age-

"Yes, of course, madam. Now let me see here, something for the stomach…"

"It's my head that hurts, you dolt. You blasted me. What did you expect?" She put her hand to her head, which was now throbbing with a dull pain. But the spots were gone, and she was feeling more like herself. She was desperate to regain her dignity as she shifted about in the giant chair, but Snape didn't notice…he was rooting around in the desk for something, looking thoughtful. He turned back to her and in his hand he held what looked like a wrapped piece of chocolate.

"Eat this; it should help."

"Oh, go hang yourself." She pushed his hand away from her mouth, then let him push the chocolate into her hand and hold her hand to her lips. The chocolate tasted bitter and just a little like dirt. Saliva rushed into her mouth, carrying its own metallic taste. She made a face.

"Blech."

"Just finish that now, Petunia. Good girl. You've had enough excitement for one night, I think," he murmured, more professionally than compassionately. He was still frowning as if thinking very hard about something. "I'm afraid you may have to stay here at least one night after all, as you've worked yourself up into quite a state. I do hope you've no intention to raise an objection, or I may have to call your nephew and have him give the nurses permission to restrain you. I would rather not use any more magic at this time, of course. I hardly think you are used to its effects. Yes indeed, it does seem to have had a strange side-effect…"

"What are you prattling on about?" she snapped irritably, trying not to let him see how hard it was to hold herself up. She did indeed feel weak. But he was ignoring her. She heard him say some unrecognizable word, and suddenly there was a _pop!_ A strange voice spoke, and he responded, mentioning her name and something about "appropriate quarters right away." Someone was there whom she could not see. The little voice assented. Then it was speaking to her.

"….Mrs. Dursley," it said. Right this way? Right _what_ way?

Lifting herself up on her forearms, she looked down to the side of Snape's desk and saw a little grey, demonic-looking creature with pointed ears staring at her. The thing said her name again, unnaturally large eyes bugging out of its head, and reached out a tiny, clawed hand…she felt its fingernails on her skin.

She screamed.


	2. Hogwarts, A History

**Story Title: Petunia the Petulant**

**Chapter Title: Hogwarts, A History**

**Author's Note: The next installment! Still very much enjoying writing this one. Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy...**

* * *

_…The straight-striding blonde boy with the eyes like Rasputin himself passed her by just a little too close on his way after her nephew. Although they could not leave soon enough for her, she trembled…he touched her palm as it hung helplessly by her side, and her fingers closed around the smooth, cool stick he placed into it. His lips grazed her hair (or she thought they did; no one had dared to get so close to her in such a long time) as he whispered: Now, don't forget to practice, Mrs. Dursley. _

_Her rage and pain shook her as his mocking words echoed and echoed and echoed in her mind like bells sounding a warning of the plague…but he had taught her. He had witnessed her moving the china as it tumbled off the counter and shattered onto the floor. And now her supernatural teacher, her angel from that world that had closed to her behind the golden gates of "More-Than-This" was gone, and she had been herself again, the slight, middle-aged, prudish wife of Vernon, a successful businessman who had not a magic bone in his body…_

It would be three days before she saw him again-three days of hell.

It was _Hogwarts_. The place which she'd not been allowed to come all those years ago, when she'd written to the headmaster and pleaded him to come...yes, and Severus knew about it, because he had gloated over her failure to sway Dumbledore, and Lily had been in on it with him. All those years, she mused, curled up on the small bed in her tiny corner in what she'd been told was the Hospital Wing, when she'd dreamed of those doors that were closed to her. Now she'd seen them, walked through them…she had thought she would feel _some_thing, perhaps a spark, a warmth, a feeling of finally being _home_…she'd forgotten that she'd believed that until she had actually stood in that hall, stiff and awkward a whole head higher than the throng of chosen children on their way to their dormitories. All she'd felt was _wrong_.

And sick…now that she remembered it. Her head had hurt then, but she'd been so intent on her purpose, and so disturbed by seeing _him_ standing there, eyes glittering, wielding ultimate power to tell her what she was and was not worth all over again.

But she was _here_. That other part of her chimed in again. She looked about the room. Except for the stone walls that gave away the fact that it was a castle, it had that same sterile coziness that the very best of hospitals she'd been to always had. Her bed had been surrounded by dark curtains, and she suspected an additional partition of some kind gave her added privacy, but she could hear the muffled conversations and bustling from other parts of the wing. Luckily, it had not taken her long to discover the bathroom, which she'd strategically been placed by at the Headmaster's orders, she imagined. She had not yet got up the courage to go and see what lay behind that strange, ornate door.

Instead, she'd spent all the first morning steeling herself against screaming again when the "elf" showed up, and vowed to herself that she'd build on her success by managing to speak to him by evening, when he brought her dinner. A nurse had come in at some point, but it seemed it was when she was half asleep and half awake, or in some other liminal, listless state, and did not stay long enough to start up a conversation. Other than that, she'd had no human contact all day, and drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Good evening, Mrs. Dursley," the little voice said, startling her awake, and she saw the grey demon-er, elf-standing just inside a fold of one curtain, a tray in its clawed hands, and what was probably a warm towel draped over its arm.

"G-Good evening," she gargled, and tried to smile but was pretty sure it just came out looking like barred teeth. Oh well.

The elf seemed pleased, however, and took this as a solicitation to come forward. It moved a little too quickly toward her, putting out the tray, and she had to hold herself steady so she would not draw herself back into the wall. To do so would not only be unquestionably insulting, but worse, would merely prove _him_ right. And she would not have such a report of her condition going back to _him_.

"-Headmaster asked me to pass on the message that the nurses have impressed upon him the weakness of your condition, and that though he cannot hold you here, you are strongly encouraged to stay until you have made a full recovery, which, he hopes, should not take more than a few days," the elf was saying to her now, and she could have sworn that he was trying to sound as important as possible.

_Ugh_.

"I have not seen a physician."

"Er, the nurses-"

"You keep saying nurses. I have not yet had a report from one, or seen even a physician, unless one has materialized and disappeared again while I've been asleep, so you must understand I'm a little confused. Is there a reason one of the nurses cannot come to give me this message? Or perhaps the Headmaster himself?"

Her boldness grew as she spoke her thoughts aloud, for she truly wanted to know the answer. What _was_ her condition, anyway? What _had_ Severus done to her? Everything had seemed so foggy after the humiliating treatment in Severus's office. The pain in her head never completely went away, but was there faintly behind her eyes and in the middle of her forehead, a dull pressure that felt deep inside. She wondered if she were on the verge of an anyeurism, and almost hoped that she was.

The elf was now shifting from one foot to the other, looking very restless. It made her skin crawl. She looked away, trying to take more interest in the tray beside her bed than she had.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am…I don't know much about these things…I'm usually in the kitchen."

"The kitchen? Then why on earth did he send you?" She demanded, forgetting not to be rude.

"Um…well, you see, he…that is…it's rather hard to explain, except that I think he wishes to respect your…er, the _delicate_ details of your condition…"

"Delicate?" She threw aside her blanket and swung her legs to the floor, staring at the creature in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me that he is so embarrassed to have me here, he will not even disclose his horrible error to his medical staff?"

"Erm…error? I'm sorry, I don't…" the elf was backing away, but now Petunia was angry, and forgot completely that she was not talking to another human being.

"Yes, _error_! How the ruddy _hell_ are they supposed to treat me, if he won't he even tell them what he's _done_ to me?" She stood up, teetered for a second while the elf's eyes widened in alarm, and straightened, putting her hands on her hips. "Would you _please_-" the word came out with effort-"tell that _coward_ of a Headmaster that I'm not planning on keeping his secret for much longer, and that I expect a better explanation and an _apology_ from his very own lips, or else I will write to my nephew, no matter how 'estranged' he may think us to be, and I _know_ he will take up my cause. Tell _that_ to Mr. Snape, and in the meantime, please _do_ let him know that as long as I'm not going to be properly treated by a physician, I shall wander about as I please, and so he should not be surprised to see me conversing with his precious students, whom I'm sure will be only too glad to explain to their parents about the Muggle woman being kept in the school."

Elf though it was, the creature was clearly terrified. Without another word, it popped out of existence, and she was alone again. She felt better.

But she could not make good on her threat, other than to open one of the curtains for a brief moment and peer out into the hospital wing, quickly pulling it in place again when she saw the patients sitting in their beds, chatting and playing games or reading books. A nurse was indeed bustling about, but not once did she seem to glance Petunia's way. No word came back from Severus. She began to feel very much alone, and decided to go back to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she awoke, restless. Listening for a moment, she heard that all was quiet. If she were going to visit the bathroom, now would be the time. She wondered if there would be a shower, and if so, if she would be brave enough to use it.

She stretched and got out of bed before she could think twice about it. She had nothing but the hospital pajamas and the mourning clothes in which she'd arrived, which seemed to have been cleaned, pressed and laid over the base of her bed. She finally opted for the more respectable look. At least the black wouldn't look out of place amongst robes…

"Ri_di_culous," she muttered as she pulled on her clothes, "worrying about looking out of _place_ in a place like this!" Then, with the resolution of a woman on a mission, she straightened her shoulders, whipped the curtains aside, and marched to the bathroom door…

Downstairs in the dungeons, soft chatter from members of the Hogwarts faculty began to die down as Headmaster Snape slipped into the Potions classroom. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn, Trelawney, Firenze, Binns, Sinistra, Hooch, Lupin, and Hagrid turned to him and looked expectant, each expressing quiet awe. Severus smirked, unused as he was to this reception among them, although not at all displeased.

Ever since the truth about his loyalty to Dumbledore, even at the point of death, had become public knowledge and he had made a stunning recovery from his wounds after several weeks in critical care, he had returned to his life to find himself unexpectedly looked to for leadership. It was almost as if all of Hogwarts had decided that he was the natural bearer of Dumbledore's legacy, and it could be no one else.

It hadn't helped, of course, that Harry Potter seemed to go out of his way whenever possible to talk about what a hero he thought Severus had been. Mercifully, Potter had the sense to be discreet about the details where Severus's memories of Lily were concerned, although this knowledge only soured his dislike of the boy into a general, grudging discomfort in his presence. Meanwhile, while Potter's words swayed public opinion, the staff at Hogwarts immediately turned to him for direction with matters that clearly belonged in the realm of the Headmaster. Thus, with some embarrassment, he had finally taken back the office, suffering through the most torturous recognition ceremony-the Ministry's idea-he could have imagined in his worst nightmares, grimacing politely through it all. He'd protested with Minerva a bit, and finally convinced her to become his assistant, but everyone knew that this was merely a title and nothing much more.

Like it or not, he mused, looking around the room, the horror of Voldemort's return and relief of his fall had brought them closer together, especially those who had been closest to Dumbledore and members of the Order of the Phoenix. He gave a sharp, awkward nod to acknowledge their respect.

"So wha's this abou' 'Arry's Aunt comin' to the school?" Hagrid wanted to know. Professor Binns, who had obviously been talking excitedly with him a moment before, looked curiously at Snape as he floated in Hagrid's enormous shadow. Severus heaved a huge, exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes.

"You've heard correctly, although I meant to break it to you myself this evening. Harry Potter's Aunt Petunia Dursley has come to Hogwarts. She had an-_unfortunate_ episode in my office during-er, a rather heated conversation, and is currently in the Hospitality Wing, recovering. Lupin, who was sitting on one of the tables near the front of the classroom where he'd been talking in low tones to McGonagall, looked up, scrutinizing him. Severus looked evenly at him for a moment, then avoided his eyes and cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid I must take some responsibility for the accident, although I was defending myself. The woman, you see, had a wand-"

The room was filled with gasps.

"Good lord!" said Minerva, obviously horrified. "Wherever did she get one from?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out."

"Is she all right? It didn't…explode on her, or something, did it?" Mrs. Sprout wanted to know.

"Was it cursed?" Lupin asked, his eyes still boring keenly into Severus's, as if searching for more information.

Many other questions and even some jokes followed this, so that Severus had to wait to finish his answer.

"Wait…" He raised his hand imperiously, enjoying the immediate silence that followed, "Not only does Mrs. Dursley have a wand, but she is prepared to use it. She is adamant about staying on the premises. You may not all realize this, but she has a history with Hogwarts. Her sister, as you know, was Lily Potter, whom she practically disowned, and with the recent passing of her husband, it seems that she has been possessed of a sudden need to follow in her sister's footsteps. The whim," he smirked again, "of a very disturbed woman. Nevertheless, I'm certain she's quite serious. Her distress was so great that when I tried to convince her that this was not a place for her, she-"

Severus stopped here, realizing that he wasn't sure how much he wanted them to know. What had happened in his office had been so extraordinary he had not had time to explore its implications himself, and quite frankly, that was not something he wished to share. But still, there was nothing for it, if he were going to have his way. He'd just have to tell them, and hope that they would trust him with dealing with Petunia from here on.

Slughorn was raising his eyebrows, intrigued, and Lupin gazed at him all the more thoughtfully.

"-She seemed to have been affected by merely _holding_ the wand while in her state-"

"What do you mean, 'affected?'" Lupin asked.

"I mean just that," Severus shortly replied, trying hard not to betray his impatience. "Whether through the power of the magical object in her hand, or the intensified presence of magic in our halls, or a combination of both, she displayed some…some…effect-"

"Effect? You mean, _aptitude_?" pressed Slughorn, who did not seem as shocked as the others.

"Perhaps," Severus finally admitted, unable to think of any other answer. "Yes, perhaps. Or, perhaps a mere anomaly. I do not know. It's not my usual area of expertise."

No one said anything to this, all appearing to take in this new information.

"That being said," he began again, seeing that the worst had passed, "I think it is without question the wise course of action to keep her here for the time being, under the care of Madame Pomfrey, in case there are any lingering ill effects."

"Absolutely."

"Yes, of course," were the answers from around the room as there was general nodding in agreement.

"And until we can notify Potter of his aunt's condition," Minerva put in, partly as a question.

"Yes, naturally," Severus conceded reluctantly, frowning. He was not sure what Potter's response to his aunt's fancy would be, but he did not like the idea of having to wait to go through him to probe the incident himself. Potter, of course, would do nothing but get in the way, but perhaps, with his newfound near idol worship of Dumbledore's most loyal man, Severus would be able to cross that bridge when he got to it.

"Of course, 'Arry's got more important things on 'is mind these days," Hagrid grunted.

"I agree," said Lupin, still looking at Severus, although now curiously. "We don't need him to worry about this right now. She's safe here, for the time being."

"Although we may want to notify the Minister, Severus, since he is most experienced with Muggles," said Minerva sensibly. Severus gave a noncommittal huff.

"I will, of course, let Arthur know as soon as I have a moment."

"What do you need from us?" asked Lupin.

"Yes, does Madam Pomfrey need any support? I think between I and Neville, who is quite knowledgeable about Muggle remedies, and then of course there is Mrs. Granger at the Ministry-"

"Yes, yes, all good ideas," Severus impatiently cut in. "It's best, I believe, if we limit our attention to Mrs. Dursley to myself and one or two more for the time being, until she becomes more…herself."

"A'right by me," Hagrid grunted. "The Dursleys were n'er very friendly to 'im as it was, if I remember righ'ly. I'm in no 'urry to see that woman again m'self."

"Although it _is_ intriguing, her wanting to spend time at Hogwarts, and carrying a wand and whatnot," Slughorn mused.

"Yes, indeed it is!" Piped up Binns, floating forward. "You know it almost reminds me of-"

"But I guess the question is, Severus, will we let her stay?" Lupin asked finally, and everyone seemed to remember that this was the most interesting question of all.

Severus sighed.

"I don't know. It is certain that she is not suited to these halls, and could possibly be a great distraction to our students, but…"

"…in a way, we have no choice," Firenze finished, one hoof scratching the back of his other hind leg as he folded his arms. "She _is_ grieving, after all."

"Yes, true," Flitwick agreed. "Maybe she needs to be here."

"I'm all right with whatever you decide, Severus, assuming Harry doesn't have other plans when he returns," Lupin said supportively, and Severus began to feel relieved. So he would be able to decide Petunia's fate. _And perhaps discover more about how she was able to produce that Patronus effect_, he mused. He would, of course, continue to keep this burning curiosity to himself.

"Great!" Slughorn stood up. "Then it's settled. Severus, let us know if you need anything, anything at all. May I assume we're free to retire for the evening? My apologies, Headmaster, but I'm quite exhausted, and I would like to be at my best tomorrow for the first-years…anyone for a nightcap?" He yawned, and with a satisfactory nod from Severus, the faculty began to file out of the room, chatting up a storm.

Binns floated eagerly up to Severus on his way out.

"I was going to say, Headmaster, that the admittance of a Muggle to this school is not entirely without precedent. There have been some interesting cases which make an argument for exceptions here and there to be made, but of course not many are interested in discussing this! I would be happy to share some of my knowledge in this area with you sometime, when you have a moment."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Severus replied, mildly surprised in spite of his distracted thoughts about the Patronus. "I will be looking to you presently."

"Indeed. Good night, then," Binns said brightly, and was floating out the door so as to continue talking with the rest of the faculty, when they suddenly seemed to part and Filch came barreling right through the ghost.

"Headmaster!" He shrieked, looking more elated than Severus could ever remember seeing him, even during the year of Umbridge.

"What is it, Mr. Filch?"

"That Muggle woman! She's gone and fainted. I think she met Moaning Myrtle in the toilet."


	3. Trials

**Story Title: Petunia the Petulant**

**Chapter Title: Trials**

**Author's Note: **Spent some time bringing together some ideas before this next chapter; hence, the space of time. Will try to update more frequently, but don't worry; I've got it all planned out. Although there was originally no overt slash intended in this story, it follows very well along a plotline of a previous story I'm still working on that is HP/DM slash. However, that is not the focus of this story at all, so I don't expect it to be more than guessable, and intend for this story to stand on its own regardless of what I do with the others either before or after. Thanks for the reviews; they are always appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

**Petunia, the Petulant**

**Trials**

It was dinnertime, and while all the school-aged students were in the dining hall, Draco Malfoy was just making his inconspicuous exit from Lupin's classroom when he thought he heard the unmistakable sound of a woman crying. Drawing up short in the hallway, he wondered for a moment if it were Moaning Myrtle, whom he had neglected to visit ever since he had fled the scene of Dumbledore's death. While he wasn't exactly afraid of her, he _had_ been trying to avoid her, without really thinking about it. He wasn't exactly proud of how things had been that last year, and really, he just wanted to forget about it all-but the woman's voice was definitely that of an adult, and sounded more alive than Myrtle's. He paused, listening, but did not recognize it.

The sound seemed to be coming from an alcove off to the left, before the stairway. Slowly, he approached, until he could make out a dark shape huddled just behind a large potted plant, sobbing softly with her face to the wall. She looked familiar, actually-

Too late, Draco realized who it was, and as the white, mortified face turned to look at him, he knew it was too late now to simply walk by. It was clear Mrs. Dursley recognized him, too. Sighing inwardly, he feigned genuine concern-really, he was mostly curious-and made to carefully approach, lest he scare her away.

"Mrs. Dursley…Potter's aunt?"

"Y..yes," she sniffled, her expression one of heartbreaking vulnerability. Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought that was you. What on earth are you doing here?"

She merely looked at him, sniffling through her tears unabashed, and he felt his face growing a little warm. Their last meeting hadn't been _terribly_ amiable, but then, though he'd been having fun at her expense, he was not sure if she'd ever put two and two together. Perhaps she had not.

"Are you looking for Harry? Is he here? I'd heard last he was away," he tried again.

She shook her head and turned back away, lost in her sorrows, apparently. He saw then that she was trembling, and, not wanting to be found at fault at the scene of some unknown crime, he looked around quickly, then crouched next to her.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Dursley? What's wrong? How did you get here?"

"I-I-I…Oh!" She began to sob in earnest, the sound carrying up into the arched alcove. Draco hastily shushed her, trying not to sound impatient.

"Mrs. Dursley, what's the matter? Should I find your nephew for you? Tell him you're here? Come on, let's find the Headmaster; he can sort this-"

"N-no, no, not the Headmaster." She shook her head vehemently, to Draco's surprise. "Not him." Mrs. Dursley seemed to gather herself then, wiping her face on her black sleeve. "No, I'm all right. Just had a bit of a fright, that's all."

"Ah…ha. Not used to Hogwarts, are we?" He tried to keep the sneer out of his voice; he really did. He hoped she would not get the wrong idea.

"No. I came…oh, but you'll think it's silly."

"Please, tell me," Draco coaxed, now very curious indeed. What _was_ she doing here, and _did_ Headmaster Snape know of her presence? Did Potter?

"All right. I'll tell you," she gulped, and she glared at him almost defiantly. "Remember when you came to visit my nephew, when you came to stay, because, because of…"

"Voldemort, yes…certainly. Just last summer."

"Yes. And, you know, we didn't speak much, but in the kitchen, before you left…with the wand…you saw me…you…you…the china…"

Draco was puzzled, and his expression must have shown it, because the Muggle woman was looking like she was about to burst into tears again as she gazed helplessly at him.

Then, suddenly, a horrible realization began to grow.

"The china. That-that you broke," he tried lamely, desperate to cover up his shame. Her face lit up, make him feel only worse.

"Yes. I know it seems silly, but-the truth is, I thought maybe it meant-maybe-I had _something_ magical in me…it sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud," she concluded tearfully, and Draco thought he'd never felt more uncomfortable in all his life.

"Of _course_ you did," he said, hating himself for continuing the charade. "And you came here, not knowing where else to go, to see if you could find out for sure."

"Exactly. Yes…you understand. You understood then, although I know you didn't think very well of me last summer, after the way I treated my nephew…" Harry's aunt looked like she were about to dissolve into tears again. She gulped as Draco put a tentative hand politely on her shoulder and moved it back and forth. "I suffered so much. I was so…so _dead_ inside, you see. I know it's no excuse, but you don't know what it's like; you're so naturally gifted. So special. Like…like my sister. Harry's mother, you see. And she left me when we were so young, so _very_ young, and went where I couldn't follow. I felt I _had_ to come here. Even if it were all for nothing. But…I can't even walk down the halls without doing something foolish. Look at me!" She held out her hand, which trembled, and stared at him, haunted. "I'm like this all the time!"

Draco could not think of anything to say to this, and merely listened, attempting to maintain an understanding expression. But what he was really thinking was that he was so, _so_ screwed…just add Harry to the list of people who would be furious with him, growing in his mind as he sat there. _You're going to have to 'fess up_, his conscience told him; it had gotten inconveniently bold in the last year, unfortunately. Sometimes he really wished he could go back to being oblivious to anything but the pursuit of this or that single goal. All this having to worry about how his actions affected other people was really starting to get to him, he reflected wearily. Like being a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

He began to stand up, his hands on Mrs. Dursley's shoulders, gently coaxing her to her feet.

"I understand completely, Mrs. Dursley. You did the right thing. I'm sure I would have done it myself, if I were in your shoes," he cooed, silver-tongued. She could not take her eyes from his, as if his very words were keeping her alive. "It's understandable that you'd take some adjusting. Hogwarts is a pretty dangerous place, actually," he laughed with a hint of hysteria, imagining the public scene of humiliation he expected to be the end of his own career with Hogwarts, or all respectable wizard society, for that matter.

"You really mean that?" The tiny woman asked, cradling into him so that he resisted holding her away.

"Of course. I can see you're afraid of the Headmaster-just a little bit?" He asked, as she gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. He recognized the obstinate curl of her lip, and chose his words carefully. "All you need is a little support. Someone in your corner, an ally. I'll tell you what. If you like, I can have a word with him. After all, I'm your only witness-so far, unless there's ever been any other incident like-no? All right, then," he sighed, smiling, now imagining himself bravely walking a plank to his watery doom, to the jeers of everyone he had ever known and was about to disappoint. "You just leave it to me, Mrs. Dursley. And in the meantime," he joked wryly, accepting her grateful embrace, "try not to get blown up."

As soon as the door to his office closed behind Malfoy's noiseless exit, Severus stood up and began to stalk, catlike, around, looking for something he could destroy and, finding nothing, glaring at everything. _His fault! _Foolish Malfoy's unthinking jest that Lily's sister had resurfaced here, like revenge beyond the grave, just when he thought he'd paid his debt, could let it go, begin to _live_…

He had been so overtaken with fury he had almost, _almost_, actually struck the boy. He'd raised his hand, and Malfoy, unused to abuse, had flinched. A deep, deep hatred for himself, the like of which he'd only felt one other time in his life, had stopped him. He'd disguised the gesture, badly, as fist thumbed onto a shelf, Dumbledore's bowl of uneaten candy (he'd not been able to throw them away) shooting pieces out onto the floor. Malfoy's face, white and confused, stared back at him, and Severus had had to turn away, choking on a memory. In it, of course, _he'd_ not been the one standing towering over the foolish, stupid boy who didn't understand-

But it was all right, Severus had told himself immediately, talking himself down as he'd delivered some kind of empty, vicious speech. Regardless of Malfoy's idiotic prank with the china, he could not have known that Petunia _did_ have some ability, which she herself had proven in his office the other day. If it hadn't been for Malfoy cruelly convincing the woman that she had made the china break of her own accord, Severus might never have made this incredible discovery-thoughts of his little project, his burgeoning research, and the recognition which it might bring him, soothed and quelled the heaving, hot rage he felt toward Lily. He would be able to rebuild his legacy. He would be known, if it was the last thing he did, for something more than being "Dumbledore's man."

Turning back to Malfoy, in his usual calm, acidic voice, he treated him to an appropriate amount of disgrace before relieving him with the information of the happy accident. Lucky for him, he'd spat, Mrs. Dursley _was_ something unusual-and for that reason, he was considering letting her stay.

"And me, sir?" Malfoy had asked, his voice as small as an elf's.

"You," he'd said smugly, relishing the taste of his power, "will say nothing of this to _any_one, without my express permission, and you're to have nothing to do with Mrs. Dursley _or_ Potter on this matter, is that understood? Good. Now get out of my sight, before I change my mind."

Now there was nothing but to face the Dursley woman.

She was nothing like Lily. And yet, Lily, he knew, would be there the moment he opened the door, staring back at him through Petunia's eyes, triumphant and cold.

Well, let her. He'd use Petunia to his own purposes, and then Lily would see how her revenge would backfire.

"I've paid my debt to you," he whispered, clenching his fists. He took a deep breath. He went to the door.

"So, you've decided to face me after all, Severus? And what do you have to say for yourself?"

"How did you create that Patronus?" Severus demanded to know immediately. It was clear this was the only topic that had been on his mind for the last three days, when Petunia had been wandering the halls staggering from one disastrous humiliation to the next.

"How did I _what_?"

"The Patronus. From your wand. Surely you remember."

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. If this is some sorry attempt to set me up with some sort of crime so you can have me booted out of here, I promise you, it will _not_ work! It will take more than persecution to get me out of Hogwarts, Severus, and when I tell my nephew Harry-"

"You mean you don't even remember casting a spell? It came seeping out of your wand, clear as day. It rose between us just before your headache. Do you remember now?"

He was waiting, for Petunia must have looked shocked as she realized what he was referring to. The silvery, blue smoke…could that have come from _her_?

"That was a-a _what_ did you call it?"

"Patronus," he repeated patiently. "It's called a Patronus, and it is a very powerful spell, used by magical people to protect themselves in times of intense fear and dismay. You've heard of dementors?"

"Yes…" she frowned, still trying to put it all together. _She'd cast a spell?!_

"Yes, your son had a run-in with them. The Patronus charm is how your nephew saved him, staving off the dementors until help could come. It is no simple trick, Mrs. Dursley. In fact, it takes several years for even some of our best students to master, and Potter himself went through some extraordinary effort to learn it. You must have been taught it somehow. Tell me, how did you manage it?"

"I…I don't know," she said finally, deciding that the truth was the best strategy, until she could figure out a way to make this work in her favor. "I've never done it before."

"Never?" Severus questioned, clearly implying that she might be lying.

"No, _nev_er, sir, as I said. I have never even heard of it, and I certainly have not seen it."

"But you implied," he persisted, leaning forward and peering at her as if at an animal specimen in a lab cage, "that you had some skill when you came here. So you must have done something _like_ it before, Mrs. Dursley."

"I successfully smashed a piece of china without touching it, with the help of the same wand, but that's all. I think that is more than enough evidence that I have the ability, however."

"And how did you obtain that wand? And what were the circumstances surrounding your experience? An accident? Are you certain it was you?"

"Look," she said forcefully, attempting to stare him down, "I _know_ it was from me. I was the only person in the room, I and-" she stopped for a moment, fearful. Could it have been a trick? But then, the Patronus-

"_And_?"

"One of your former students, who was teaching me. Letting me experiment, you might say."

"Ha! Potter?"

"No. The other boy who came to stay last summer. His name was Draco. Malvo or something."

It was an odd sight to see Severus's mouth drop open even the slightest bit, so _human_ an expression it was, so open with obvious surprise; or so it seemed. Then he seemed to catch himself, and intense curiosity took over again.

"_Draco Malfoy_ taught _you_ how to use a _wand_?"

"He merely put it in my hand and presented me with the opportunity to try it. He simply suggested the possibility, which leads me to the overwhelmingly obvious conclusion that, had so simple a gesture been presented to a so-called 'Muggle' ever in the past hundred years, you and your snooty little community might have a very different population at this school than the selective one you've been enjoying."

"I see…" Snape did not bother to take this bait, although she was certain he could have come up with this or that or the other detailed argument as to why, again, Muggles had never been permitted at Hogwarts, and she had been ready for_ that_ fight. But he seemed interested, and, despite herself, her heart pounded, excited. The fact was, she shared his curiosity, and it was almost contagious, the way he was turning it over in his head, the shrewd possibilities she just _knew_ he was greedily considering. Could it be that he would actually change his mind?

After a long silence, during which Petunia shifted her stance from one version of defiance to another, Snape finally looked up again. When his eyes fell upon her, they seemed almost to look through her, and she felt he was still very lost in thought. The animosity that had been so thick between them had momentarily, at least, receded.

"It is very unusual, of course, to take on adult students, skilled or not. Hogwarts does have a reputation to protect."

"Oh, of _course_," she replied, soaking her voice with sarcasm. She imagined dozens of little robed and queerly dressed children eagerly discussing their prospects of studying at Hogwarts with their equally strange parents, as excited as if they were about to be admitted to Oxford, and rolled her eyes.

"For that reason, I think some discretion would be best. Where there is no prior policy in place, one must be careful about setting a precedent before the possible repercussions have been thoroughly discussed and examined by all who hold stake in the future of the decision."

"Blah, blah-blah, blah. Just spit it out, why don't you."

"Yes," Severus mused, not even appearing to register her rudeness. "Discretion." He stood up. "That being said, I've decided to take you on for some private training. I at least would like to discover more about the anomaly. You'll have to stay for a little while longer, as this may take some time. I have a lot of information to gather, and you'll need to be compliant and answer all my questions and follow all my instructions to the _line_."

"You talk about me as if I were a science experiment."

"That's exactly what you are, and it would be a pity on you if you were to forget it. But you're getting exactly what you wanted, aren't you? You're going to study magic, after a fashion, just like your little sister." He sneered, but she did not notice.

Having nothing to say to this, she was trying very hard to hide her rapture as realization of her victory hit her. After all this time! Oh, if only Lily were still alive to _see_! They might still be close again…

"Very well, Mrs. Dursley, you are our first Muggle student," he said, _almost_ amiably, and she did not bother to berate him for using the "M" word. "Now I suggest you get some rest. Oh, and we'll be moving your quarters, of course, out of the Hospital Wing. I'll want to know if you suffer any more headaches, and any other physical symptoms, but I think there is no immediate danger other than some discomfort which will, I would postulate, fade with time. Unless you have any personal concerns about your health?"

"None…I don't think I need medical attention at the moment, and something tells me even if I did, it would not be your doctors who could provide it."

"Very well, then, Petunia. Step outside and give me a moment; I'll take you to your new quarters myself."

She stood struggling with herself for a moment, and he looked up.

She tried, just for a moment, to see him as a Headmaster, and not that greasy, wicked little boy who had stolen her sister from her years ago. And she tried to see herself as the younger version of herself, having arrived fresh after having received an affirmative answer to her letter requesting admission. She opened her eyes.

"Yes…_sir_," she said softly, and it felt _so_ good.


	4. Loose Ends

**Story Title: Petunia the Petulant**

**Chapter Title: Loose Ends**

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

**Petunia, the Petulant**

**Loose Ends**

_Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Hogwarts is an ancient institution with a dignified and distinguished history. As a student at Hogwarts, you agree to uphold the reputation of this school with conduct befitting of its prestigious legacy. This contract will serve as a binding magical and legal agreement upon your signature; please read carefully and thoughtfully before signing._

_By signing this contract, you indicate your understanding and acceptance of the following:_

_-You are hereby admitted under probationary status as a student of Hogwarts, and your admittance may be revoked at any time, for any reason, with or without warning._

_-Your probationary status renders you ineligible to apply coursework toward a diploma, degree, certificate, or any other terminal condition, until such time as your status is adjusted_

_-You are not guaranteed any adjustment of status_

_-You may not fraternize with any Hogwarts students below seventh year_

_You will exercise discretion when discussing your studies with any other students, faculty, or members of the outside community_

_-You will dress and behave in a manner appropriate to your age and station_

_-You will complete all assignments, practice modules, and regimens provided in your course of study diligently, obediently and without fail_

_-You will observe any and all other behavioral and academic restrictions determined by the Headmaster_

_This contract may be added to or otherwise altered at any time and as many times as necessary throughout the course of your studies at Hogwarts and, if so altered, will be proceeded by due notice being given. _

_If you agree to these terms, please sign and date below._

Petunia had written her signature while reading the contract. There was no need to hesitate; if Severus thought a paragraph or two of legal jargon would scare her away, he did not know her very well. As soon as she had written the date, the scroll of parchment had shimmered and, levitating before her, re-rolled itself, disappearing with a _crack!_

She took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out slowly.

A smile spread across her face.

She giggled, chuckled, laughed out loud and squealed with pleasure.

"Oh, Lily, look at this _room_!" She could hardly help herself; ever since she had stepped out of the carriage that took her to the gates of Hogwarts, she had found herself spontaneously talking to Lily, almost as if they were still children again, still close, before all that had happened. In fact, since Vernon's death, she had felt, oddly, closer to Lily than ever. Although her anger was not gone, she found the ritual comforting. She simply _had_ to tell _someone_!

The room had been made up for her somewhere near the kitchens and, as she had been told, Hufflepuff House, although she had not yet been to see it. It was also strategically placed near enough to the dungeons, by way of both the stairs and a back hallway entrance, so as to keep her near to Snape's house of Slytherin, where her lessons, the Headmaster told her, would mostly be taking place.

Standing up and walking around in a kind of hushed awe, Petunia examined and relished every object, every decoration, every corner of her quarters.

For all his severity, Severus had chosen well and, she suspected, had the room well prepared for its new occupant. A four-poster bed with hangings, just enough for her to stretch out upon, was pushed against the side wall, so that she could walk around it to the other side of the room and sit by the window that looked out onto the green…_To see the students if I wish,_ she thought, impressed. Was it kindness that had given him this insight, or cruelty? She supposed it didn't matter, deciding that the effect would be up to her. By the window and chair was a small, circular table, glass-covered, with old but distinguished ornate sculpture gracing its four elegant legs. Another chair sat on the other side, although she doubted he actually expected her to have visitors. More for appearances than anything else, she guessed, but still…it was a nice touch, to have it there, just in case…

Across from her bed there was enough room to walk between the bed and the bureau, which had shelves and drawers and cupboards that swung and opened out, some with hooks for jewelry or cushioned areas in which to stick pins. In the center of the bureau was a round mirror face, with, strangely enough, two small curtains of silk that could be drawn across a brass bar to cover it. Several cloth bags of what looked to be grooming supplies sat in baskets on the bureau, and she thought this gesture had the unmistakable touch of a woman's good sense. Interesting, that…

Next to the bureau was a private bathroom that was quite small, but also very nicely set up with a standalone wash basin and a tiny bathtub with a set of clear curtains and cloth ones. She could tell from the exposed piping in the bathroom that the room must have originally been meant for janitorial purposes, which meant of course, that someone had taken great trouble to make it hospitable for its guest. On the opposite wall from the bathroom and within reach of the bed was a study desk with a bookshelf, and a few books and mostly decorative items in it. On the desk were a set of what appeared to be old-fashioned ink bottles, and a number of feathered quills which she instantly took out and lovingly admired. They had different plumes that seemed, along with the size and shape of their points, to suggest their purposes. One drawer on the desk was about as long as a post mailbox, and she slid it open to find it empty, but unusually dark. Several sheets of parched paper, like old-fashioned stationary, had been neatly arrayed in a pile so that a few of the corners fanned out, and she had two actual _scrolls, _blank, tucked into the nook. On the bookshelf were a few books, an ornate bookend, and a snowglobe with a queer little village in it. At the touch of her fingertip, the snowglobe sprang to life with glitter swirling around, and with another touch, soft instrumental music played, of varying genres, but always gentle and without words. Studying music, perhaps? Inside the other drawers were some jars, bottles and boxes of things that rattled or slurped or sludged…she left those alone.

Finally there was crammed against this wall a small wardrobe that looked as if it had seen better days, and upon opening it, Petunia was tickled to find a long set of black robes. Her mouth dropped open as she contemplated actually wearing it within sight of others, and she quickly closed the door, but not before noting that there appeared to be other items of clothing in the wardrobe; she would have to explore them later.

In the midst of the floor was a round, rope carpet of many colors that she could have _sworn_ had been square and red with end tassels a moment before, but she was so taken with all the details of the room that she pushed this to the back of her mind. Looking around at the walls, there were a couple more bookshelves with only a few books on them, and paintings of beautiful landscapes she did not know. Her eyes rested upon one: in it, a beautiful young girl, just at the point of coming of age, knelt in the ground beneath a tree, a unicorn lying in her lap as she fed it an apple. Petunia could not take her eyes off this picture; she stood for a whole ten minutes or so meditating on every feature of the girl, taken with how _alive_ she looked, the flush in her cheeks, the utterly contented smile of complete absorption, and most of all, the strange quality of being both childlike and womanly at the same time, frozen, frozen in time at the place of all possibilities, while a magical beast glistened, his head probably warm, leaning upon her lap, the two of them swallowed by the deep green of the hidden forest…

Something, a soft, chiming sound, came from her desk, and she gradually pulled her gaze from the picture to the desk where, it appeared, an unnoticed piece of parchment seemed to have been placed upon it, and now glowed in time with the soft chime.

Mesmerized, Petunia approached the desk and, touching the glowing paper tentatively, picked it up.

It was something between a map and a schedule, she found, upon closer inspection. As if someone had been sitting there for hours, in careful, exquisite calligraphy, a detailed map of the main sections of the school were labeled, and in the dining hall, which now glowed green, the words "Evening Meal" were being scrawled and erased over and over, also in time with the chime.

Her eyebrows knitted. Was she meant to join the other students in the dining hall? But Severus's preoccupation with discretion…still, she had to eat. Petunia suddenly realized she was mightily hungry, and could not remember her last real meal. She thought perhaps it had been on the train, when she had really been too nervous to eat anything. Beginning to resent Severus anew, she reopened the wardrobe, pulled out the black robe, and, taking a deep breath, adjusted it in front of the mirror.

She was surprised to find that the mere addition of the robe did wonders to her appearance; while she thought it was odd to see her own face staring back at her, uncertain and awkward, from above them, she otherwise should fit right in. _Even if I do look like one of the professors_, she mused. Well, at least it would allow her to explore…wouldn't it?

"Here I go," she said, and opened the door.

The smells from the kitchens had been seeping in for a few minutes already, she realized, as she closed the door behind her, and then frantically checked to make sure the key Severus had given her would work. Being so close to the kitchens, she could hear a kind of musical, rhythmic clatter and bustle. She walked down the halls, trying not to trip on her high heels, which had never given her trouble in all the years since she'd begun wearing them at the age of sixteen. Remembering that the kitchens were run by-she gulped-those awfully ugly "elves," she hoped she would not run into any and sped up her pace. It was not long before she heard the sounds of students entering the great hall, chatting happily amongst themselves as she stopped just behind a great door frame and looked out.

After it seemed the crowds going in were dwindling to the last stragglers, she gathered her courage and carefully followed them at a distance until she could get a glimpse inside the great hall.

The sight that met her eyes looked exactly as it had been described by Lily to their parents; exactly as she had imagined it all these years, long after Lily had stopped talking about Hogwarts to her, terrified of enraging her further.

Rows and rows of students sat at long, medieval-esque banquet tables, and the tables were covered…_covered_ with all sorts of food, colorfully displayed. Candles floated above their heads in the vast, spacious ceiling, both terrifying and beautiful, and above them, what looked like the dark night sky. Looking back into the room, she saw the happiness of the Hogwarts students; no one seemed to be eating alone, none without some kind of sparkling engagement, whether arguing, laughing or listening. And she could not help but notice that not one of them looked even close to eighteen.

Lifting her eyes as she scanned, she noticed the long table at the far end, with the teachers, and Headmaster Snape himself, sitting in their midst. From the distance he appeared to be concentrating on his food, although it looked like one or two of the other instructors were talking to and over him. What would he do when he saw her? Would he sneer? Invite her in? Scowl and gesture for her to disappear?

Not wanting to catch his eye, she began to back away, resolved to find some other means of procuring sustenance. She turned around, but not before accidentally catching the eye of someone else, someone who was standing, not sitting, with a group of other students who all looked just a little taller and more self-assured than everyone else. The young woman who had noticed her had long, full, almost bushy hair and a sharp expression; Petunia had a feeling she did not miss much. The girl was looking at her rather curiously, and almost looked as if she were about to start walking in her direction. A couple of the others standing with her, one of whom, Petunia now realized, was young Mister Malfoy, began to turn when they saw her looking toward the door.

Petunia did not give them a chance to see what the first girl had been looking at; she spun on her heel and began to walk quickly back toward where she'd come. Food would just have to wait; she did not wish to be caught by anyone just then.

Shortly after she'd found her room again and closed the door breathlessly behind her, there was a small knock just on the outside. Her heart beat a little quicker; the knock was not recognizable. In fact, she considered, it was rather Muggle-like to knock on a door, wasn't it? Surely if it were the Headmaster, he'd have found another way to announce himself. She paused and held her breath, hoping whomever it was would go away.

On the third knock, she opened the door.

The young woman from inside the hall was standing outside, her arms filled with a tray of piled dishes of utterly _delicious_-looking dishes, and wearing a shy, apologetic smile.

"Mrs. Dursley? Good evening. I'm Hermione Granger, a friend of your nephew's."

Petunia merely gaped at her, her mind clicking away, thinking about how impossibly fast the girl had appeared outside of her door, and loaded down as she was; then she remembered where she was. She must get used to such odd impossibilities.

"I'm-I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No, Mrs. Dursley, I don't think we've ever formally met, but I could not help but guess it was you. I keep in regular touch with Harry-" the girl seemed to stop and shake herself, as if remembering why she'd really come; "-I noticed you in the hall just now, and thought you might like to join some of us for supper."

"I'm not hungry," Petunia instantly lied, her voice coming out rather petulant.

"Well…it's just that, some of us-a small group of us, you know, were going to have supper privately, as, you know, it's rather noisy in the great hall, and anyway, we're a bit older than everyone else there…you see, we didn't really get to finish our seventh year, because of the violence at the school, and so some of us have returned for some final studies. We take night classes," the girl called Hermione explained, as if this would somehow change Petunia's mind.

"Privately?" She asked, understanding that the girl was politely suggesting she might feel a bit out of place.

_Well, you do_, she told herself practically. There was no point in pretending otherwise just for her pride; she _did_ have to eat, and anyway, she was now, officially even, an actual student of Hogwarts. _When in Rome, I suppose_…

"Where?" She asked.

"Just down this way," Hermione said, looking absolutely elated that her invitation was being considered. "There's a room just off the kitchens where we've had a table set up, and I can show you where you can easily find a meal if, like the rest of us, you'd like to avoid the great hall once in a while, although of course you're welcome to eat there if you choose-"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," Petunia interrupted, closing her eyes. "But just how do you know all this?"

"Oh…well, it's not that I've been prying or anything…"

"Not that I mind, you understand, but I'm just curious. I haven't exactly spoken to anyone about being here, and that includes my nephew, although I did tell him I might make the trip. I'm just trying to understand how you seem to know so much about why I'm here-"

"Mrs. Dursley, it's I who should apologize," Hermione answered genuinely, clearly ignoring the weight of all she was carrying as Petunia watched her arms lower the tiniest bit and readjust the tray. "I'm rather good at paying attention to what goes on around here; it's just something I do. It drives Harry and Ron crazy! Although it's come in quite handy in some tight spots, and so I rather think someone's got to do it. No one's really told me anything, although I thought I've noticed you around a few times. There was…er…a rumor about a bathroom in the Hospital Wing."

Petunia sighed.

"Yes, my wonderful entrance. Well, I suppose it would be rude to refuse; thank you very much for the offer. I don't mean to seem so…so reticent," she faltered, realizing that she sounded a little haughty and trying to make up for it.

"Not at all! I'm glad you'll join us." Hermione positively beamed, and with a nod of her head, said, "right this way, Mrs. Dursley. And you'll get to meet some of Harry's other friends," she added, obviously thinking this a plus. Petunia sighed again, but silently, and gratefully closing the door, followed the girl with the tray of food.

As promised, Hermione led her past doors and halls of what appeared to be storage areas, cool rooms and pantries, until they came to a small, cozy kitchenette that had been attached to a modified dining room. A beautiful, long cherry wood table that could seat probably up to twelve stood in the center, and several students already sat there, talking around mouthfuls of food. The Malfoy boy, Draco, was standing over his place, looking at a young boy with red hair who looked just a little familiar. When she entered behind Hermione, Draco turned toward them and, seeing her, smiled, his eyes unreadable. Was he embarrassed to see her there, with his friends? Would he be restrained with her, now that he was among his peers? She nodded and tried to smile back.

"Mrs. Dursley, come, have a seat," he said warmly, coming around the table and pulling out a chair for her next to him. She was relieved; although she barely knew him, and he had been a very unwelcome presence a year ago when he'd come to her house with Harry, in just the few days she'd been at Hogwarts, he now seemed like an old friend amidst all these strangers.

"Hello, Draco," she returned, determined to be the adult. "Don't mind if I do."

Hermione plopped down on the other side next to the young man with the red hair and, she now saw, sprinkle of freckles, and pushed the tray of food into the middle of the table, taking some of the plates for herself with a satisfied expression. The red-haired boy looked at her, a secret glance of some kind passed between him, and then turned his attention to Petunia.

"'Lo," he said, somewhat rudely she thought, around a leg of poultry. He suddenly jerked as if he'd just realized he were sitting on a very hot bed of coals, swallowed, wiped his hands on his legs, and half stood to offer his hand over the table. "Ron Weasley. Harry's mate. We've met before-sort of," he finished awkwardly, as Petunia distrustfully gave him a limp hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said flatly, and did not try to smile this time, but he did not seem to notice. She looked around and saw a young woman with blond hair who smiled serenely at her.

"Luna Lovegood," Hermione said by way of introduction, and the girl nodded. She looked all right, Petunia thought, if a little awkward.

"Where's Neville?" Draco asked.

"Dunno," said Ron. "Should be here any minute. Said he had to drop off something for the Headmaster. Was awful proud, too."

"I'm here!" a blustering voice said, startling Petunia, as a tall, lanky young man with short, dark hair stalked in through the kitchenette, taking off a long jacket from over his robe and setting down a box of potted plants as he took a seat next to Luna.

"Oi," the boy called Ron said, mouth again full.

"Hi, Neville," said Hermione and Draco.

The blond girl smiled again.

The boy called Neville, whom Petunia thought looked rather smart and grown-up, hastily pulled out his chair and sat down, settling himself, before suddenly looking up and seeing Petunia there with some surprise.

"Good evening," she said first, picking up a fork and a moist-looking meat pie. "I'm Petunia Dursley. I trust you know my nephew, Harry Potter."

"Blimey, I do! Neville Longbottom. It's-nice to meet you, Ma'am," he stammered, instantly getting up to take her hand, and she thought she rather liked his manners. He sat back down with a mixture of embarrassment and interest, and quickly turned his attention to the others, as if trying to gauge their expressions for how he should react.

"I ran into Mrs. Dursley on my way," said Hermione without batting an eyelash, "and invited her to join us."

"Good you did," said Neville. "I imagine Harry would hardly like it if any of his relatives were here and we did not make ourselves known. I'm sorry we didn't know you were here sooner, Mrs. Dursely."

"I only just arrived," she began to explain, after swallowing what tasted like the most exquisite bite of food she could ever have imagined.

"Something to drink, Mrs. Dursley?" Draco asked, getting up.

"Yes, I'd love something cold, whatever you're having, thank you," she said, and he went into the kitchenette.

"As I was saying, I only just arrived, and my first day was spent in-in the Hospital Wing," she said carefully, remembering Severus's admonitions to be discreet.

"The Hospital Wing? That's hardly a good place to start," said Luna.

"Yes, I'm afraid I was a little bit…in shock, you might say."

"Wait, aren't you a Muggle?" Neville asked.

Hermione put down her fork and gave him a stony glare.

Petunia, stiffening, looked down at her food and took another bite, collecting herself. _Don't be rude, don't be rude, don't be rude, don't be rude_…she chanted to herself until she'd swallowed.

"Yes, I do think that's the word that's been used to refer to me in the past," she said, calmly enough, and glancing up at Neville, was secretly pleased to see he looked rather abashed, his cheeks bright red.

"And now, for an encore, Neville, how about you sing us a rousing chorus of The Werewolves and the Wee, Wee Bairns?" said Draco.

Ron gave a small snort into his mug, and Petunia, not understanding the reference, nevertheless could not help finding this shaming amusing.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Dursley," said the young man so genuinely that she instantly forgave him. _Such a nice boy, so like Dudley when he was younger, a proper, proper young man_…

"Not at all, Mr. Longbottom. You didn't mean any harm."

"No, Ma'am," he said gratefully, his cheeks still pink. "What I meant was-"

"Yes, being at Hogwarts is taking some getting used to, and it _was_ a bit of a shock at first, especially since the first thing that greeted me was a-my goodness, I can hardly make myself say it! A-"

"Ghost," Draco finished for her. "Myrtle," he added by way of explanation to the others.

"Is that her name?" Petunia shuddered. Although the memory was still horrific, she was getting some kind of obscene pleasure from talking about it, especially with those sympathetic young faces turned to her, looking horrified on her behalf. And honestly, there must be something in the food, because she was really in quite a good mood, all of a sudden…

"Oh Myrtle. Myrtle, Myrtle, Myrtle," said Draco, shaking his head.

"They call her _Moaning_ Myrtle," Ron added. "And she certainly plays the part."

"Oh she does, she does. We've got some 'history,' her and I," Draco continued, and Petunia felt that, like her, he was pleased at having a story to tell to a willing audience.

"She's harmless, though," said Neville.

"And quite sad, actually," Hermione pointed out, looking slightly irritated.

"Sad or not, it can't have been nice to meet her on your first day at Hogwarts, especially if you aren't used to magical things happening all the time to begin with," pointed out Luna.

"Wait, didn't you say the Hospital Wing? That's not her normal haunt," Ron frowned.

"Oh, knowing Myrtle," said Draco cheerfully, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, "She probably wanted to get first look at the newcomer. Just think, Mrs. Dursley," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and grinning ironically, "She made a special trip up to that bathroom, just for you."

"I'm honored, obviously," she joked, and was pleased when they laughed.

They were a strange bunch.

They made reference to incredible stories that she didn't quite understand, but could see that they had all been through something together…something terrible. She thought of Harry, and noticed how many times her nephew's name came up in conversation. Often, some incredible act of bravery was attributed to him, and it seemed that all would have been lost, had not Harry done this, or that, or the other. She tried not to be jealous as she thought about her own son, Dudley, and wondered if he would have done half the things Harry was said to have done, had he just had the opportunity.

She also thought she noticed some kind of interesting dynamic between Draco and the others. While the other four seemed very much at ease, Draco always seemed to be trying just a little too hard to impress them with his words. They seemed to tolerate this well. She thought he had rather the attitude of one constantly trying to apologize for something, something…but though she listened, she could not find out what it was. Also, it was clear that Ron and Hermione were the closest of all to Harry, and she eventually remembered having seen the red-haired boy in a flying car at some point, but much younger…

Also, someone named Ginny was mentioned quite a bit as if she usually joined them, and she gathered from the conversation that Ginny was Harry's sweetheart, and also Ron's sister. Interesting…

"Tell me about the night classes," she had asked at one point, her meal finished, and her plate and utensils forgotten as she leaned forward, looking to Hermione.

"They're mostly with Lupin," Hermione explained. "Even though we've all been able to more than qualify for our various jobs-I'm at the Ministry of Magic, for instance-" she looked rather proud here-"we were given the choice to formally complete our studies and get our diplomas. Most of us took it. I suspect partly because it's hard to say good bye to this place," she concluded fondly.

"And really, with all that the war did to this school and so many families being affected by it, there were so many loose ends to tie up to get back to any sense of normalcy," put in Luna. "We were just a few of them."

"But I was under the impression that Hogwarts did not accept adult students," Petunia persisted.

They looked at each other.

"I don't know that there's any actual policy about that," Hermione answered, frowning, while the rest seemed to defer to her. "Although I've never actually seen any other adult students here-"

"Wait, pardon me, Mrs. Dursley, but are you-are you _studying_ at Hogwarts?" Ron piped up, looking as if something had just clicked into place. All their faces looked expectantly to her at this, clearly more interested in her answer to this question than in anything else that had been said that evening.

They were all seventh year and over, after all, Petunia considered.

"Well, yes, actually, I am."

A few impressed gasps and "Blimey's!" were uttered, and a small warmth crept into her cheeks, but she was not as embarrassed as she was proud.

"I hardly know what to ask first!" admitted Neville. "Not that it's any of our business," he added hastily.

Draco was silent, and he seemed very interested in moving around a remnant of food on his plate, all of a sudden, but she guessed that he was waiting for her to decide how much she wanted to tell.

"Well, it's quite a story, really," Petunia said thoughtfully, feeling awed by the reality of her situation anew. "The truth is…the Headmaster…he thinks I have some ability," she finished a little lamely.

"There's been evidence," Hermione guessed.

"Yes."

"You know for sure?" said Ron, before being nudged roughly by Hermione.

"The headmaster saw it himself," Petunia answered.

There was silence at this, and a newfound look of awe on their faces as they regarded her, which somehow made her sit all the straighter, and Petunia momentarily forgot the age difference between them.

"I knew it," Hermione whispered after a moment, positively glowing with pride. "I knew they were wrong about Muggles. They're wrong about so many things, when it comes to anything biological…"

"Well, they're not wrong, are they?" countered Ron. "She's not a Muggle, obviously."

"Then why didn't they detect her sooner?" said Neville, also apparently taken with Hermione's hypothesis.

Ron shrugged.

"They missed her, is all."

"There's a very simple answer, actually, but the Ministry's been ignoring it for years. My dad has reported incidents of Muggles performing magic since _The Quibbler's_ early days…"

For some reason Petunia did not understand, no one said anything to this, and they all seemed to be ignoring Luna.

"Let me guess," said Draco, his eyes narrowing. "Headmaster Snape wants to find out exactly why you're able to perform magic, and he wants all the credit for himself. I bet he's keeping you here as his personal test subject… no offense, Mrs. Dursley."

"He does know Snape pretty well," Ron conceded.

"I'm not offended, I think," Petunia smiled.

"Well, it's just like him, but in a way, you couldn't be in better hands, so I say let him," Draco said simply.

Hermione looked a little concerned.

"Doing anything with Headmaster Snape can be pretty intense. I think it's wonderful you're studying at Hogwarts, Mrs. Dursley, and I just hope, whatever he puts you through, you won't give up. If you should need any help, any help at all-"

"Oh no you don't, 'Moine," said Ron. "You let her do the work she's got to do on her own. No interfering. You'll skew the results."

"Don't be so insensitive," she snapped back, and the two of them began a bickering session that took them out of the conversation.

"I appreciate the offer. I'm sure I'm in good hands."

"I'd love to talk more sometime," said Hermione again, as she was walking Petunia back to her room later. "And of course, you're welcome to join us any time you want some company for supper again. We meet there a few times a week…" Petunia unlocked her door and, wrapping her robe protectively around her as a nervous habit, she thanked Hermione and smiled shyly. She was not sure, she thought, watching the girl retreat happily in the direction of the Great Hall, how often she might want to take her up on her offer, but it was nice to know the option was there, and it was nice to have the problem of meals solved.

Upon entering her room, she instantly noticed it had already changed…again

On her desk appeared to be some large, greenish glass bottle, the soft light of the room making a prism of colors on the wall next to her bed. Around the glass bottle top was wrapped a colorful, frayed yarn knit into a ribbon. The bottle appeared to be filled with some dark, thick liquid. Next to it, on the desk, was a small parchment that had, in very neat, small handwriting, instructions:

_Drink entire contents before retiring. Sleep on back._

Picking up the bottle and examining it, Petunia got an eerie feeling.

Then her eye caught the larger parchment with the map and the schedule on it, for a new line now glowed green under the title "Agenda." It read:

_Tomorrow, 7:00 a. m., Dungeon Classroom 4B_


End file.
